No check in July

With apologies to Vallejo, I need to change the lyrics a little, to my own version: “I’m used to cannelloni, now I’m eating macaroni….” Last check I was supposed to get arrived in June. No check in July, and the news thus far is no check in August, either. I would like to go grocery shopping some time, and the cat’s food is starting to look delightfully delicious — but I think she’d wrestle me for it, and her claws are much sharper than my nails. I started on a project, about four years ago, and working on it again makes my head hurt, which gives me new respect for lawyers, that’s for sure. Best cure for a headache is a hike — and I opted for the longer version of the east side of the lake, in yesterday’s afternoon sun. Looked like it was going to be relatively cool, a mere 97 degrees. I came across a Mexican mom, and her two young sons, struggling with a fishing pole and tangled lines. “Know anything about fishing?” It resulted in a 20 minute lesson in fishing reels, how to cast, and what bait was good on the lake here. But it brings up another point, I don’t know how I’m going to last all the way through these four–hour operas coming up, although, the term “Iron Butt Kramer,” does have a certain ring to it. When I looked at the weather in Seattle, the overnight low is probably cooler than the tepid in my ice chest. I’ll be ever so much happier when the nifty Virgo web designer gets to work on the “low brow mystic” stuff. Friday’s Radio Station. [Not my scopes.]